Angels Surround Us

Your room in the hospice facility was hot and dark, and smelled sweet. Covering every available space on the walls were dozens of pictures of saints, angels, and the Virgin Mary; it was instantly clear to me that you had been here for quite some time. There were vases of roses and family pictures in frames on every surface. The clutter was as stifling as the heat.

You were tucked into the hospital bed wearing pink pajamas, propped up on many pillows and apparently asleep. I quietly walked over to the chair at your bedside and sat down.

“Are you the massage person?” you whispered through heavy eyelids.

“I am, are you up for a foot rub?” I asked.

You agreed and I stepped to the foot of the bed. I placed my hands gently on top of your feet. I worked slowly, as your body was emaciated and delicate, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. You took deep breaths with eyes closed. “Your hands feel nice. Not many people touch me, except the nurses and my mom.”

I covered your small legs with the blanket and took one of your hands in mine. You looked up at me then, and began to tell me about your room.

“I have all these pictures to protect me.” You explained that you were plagued by night terrors, hallucinations, and disturbing thoughts every minute, of every day. The images you surrounded yourself with brought a sense of protection and calmed your unsettled nerves. You had Huntington’s disease, and you were here on hospice, at the age of twenty two.

So young, I thought, to be so afraid. This was my first, and to date, only, client with Huntington’s disease. I dropped my body weight deeper into my feet, drawing on the Tai Chi skills I had been taught at school, and anchored my energy deep into the earth. I asked for comfort and reassurance to move through my hands, so that you might feel a little less afraid.

I completed our session and said goodbye, promising to come back during my shift the following week.

I returned to see you three times in your final weeks. Each time you lit up when I walked through the door, even though your body and spirit were fading. At times I hoped you might recover and go on to live a long, happy life- but Juvenile Huntington’s disease progresses quickly and your older sister, who also had Huntington’s, had predeceased you. I wasn’t there to change the course of your treatment. I was there to support you across this threshold.

One day, I walked directly to your room at the beginning of my shift and eagerly pushed the door open with a smile and a greeting.

The room was empty except for a bed, a table and a chair. All of your angels, all your flowers, and you, were gone. My breath caught in my chest and I just stood there holding the door open. Moments of our time together flowed through my mind, and I grasped for them so as to not drop a single gem, no matter how small. I felt myself surrounded by those images of angels that walked with you, and felt you there too, free and fearless.